Chapter Eighteen: Losing Control

A pop, a click and a splash. With these sounds, the King of France poured himself another brandy. With slightly trembling fingers, he brought the glass to his mouth, momentarily enjoying the feel of fine crystal on his lips before sending a long sip of liquid fire hurtling to the back of his throat. The strong taste made him grimace and his handsome features twist in disgust. Nevertheless, he took another sip.

Vincent had never been much of a drinker. He preferred to rule his country and household with a clear head and sober disposition, unlike some of his predecessors. However, recent events had seen him find a small sense of solace in the castle's rather large stocks of premium cognac, normally reserved for special occasions. It numbed the pain of losing his only child.

It had been almost a month since her disappearance from the guarded bedroom in the middle of the day, and slightly less time since the departure of Chip in pursuit of her. So far, there had been no word or sighting of either of them. Vincent didn't know how much longer he could stand the awful uncertainty.

He had sent guards out on no less than four occasions since then, only for them to return empty-handed every time. The Enchantress had said that the guards could do nothing, but he was not convinced. In his eyes, whoever or whatever this abductor was, there had to be people that knew about its existence and whereabouts. People that could be caught and tried for treason. It would help…like the cognac helped.

But it didn't help. It only made matters worse. Vincent looked down at the half-drunk liquor in his hand. Once he'd finished it, then what? He'd have another? And another? And end up a drunken fool, no better than the louts who frequented the nearby tavern? He wouldn't get his daughter back by continuously staring at the bottom of a brandy glass…

His thoughts were interrupted by a firm and measured knocking on the oak-panelled doors. Vincent re-corked the bottle and placed it back in his desk.

"Come in!" he boomed, as steadily as he could muster. The handle turned and Cogsworth entered the room, sweeping himself into a low bow as he did so.

Good old Cogsworth. Reliable, dependable Cogsworth. The man had been somewhat of a saviour these past few weeks. No matter how anxious everyone felt or how chaotic life got, he insisted on a strict routine at all times for every one in the castle, including the Royal Family. It was this tightly-planned schedule that had helped keep Vincent sane lately. With hardly a moment to himself, he'd had little time to dwell on situations he could not change.

"Dinner is served, your majesty. Tonight's menu includes this season's wonderful veal with foie gras, your highness' favourite beef ragout with fresh vegetables from the castle gardens, a selection of the Chef's exquisite fruit pies with…"

"Thank you, Cogsworth. I shall be down shortly."

The servant bowed and left. As efficient and distracting as he was, he did have a tendency to recite every dish available beforehand in such a mundane manner that it often made the King lose his appetite. Tonight's menu was especially extensive as the Royal

Household were entertaining the Duke of Burgundy and his notoriously large entourage during a feast that had been intended as a device to introduce the princess to his Grace. The Duke had a son about Raisse's age that he was eager to marry off, and the pair had seemed to enjoy each other's company at the last Yuletide Ball.

Of course, the current absence of the princess did put somewhat of a damper on the proceedings, but the Duke, and his much younger wife, and all their household and hangers-on too, had pleaded that the visit not be cancelled, stating that a pleasant meal would lift spirits no end. After much deliberation and persuasion, Vincent had agreed. After all, the Duke was an excellent match for him at chess, a game he'd become very proficient at over the last few years.

Checking his appearance in the large ornate mirror on the wall, the King straightened his cravat and went to endure the evening.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Several miles away, Chip was trying to deal with the arrival of his own guest, although this one was unexpected and unwelcome.

With the knife still hovering mere inches from her throat, the intruder waited for him to speak, seemingly unable or unwilling to do so herself. Chip remained silent too, because he was desperately trying to remember the name of the woman in front of him.

F…F…Fauna? Flora? Fou…Faux….

"You!"

It was better than nothing. Of course, it would have sounded more confrontational if shock hadn't made him deliver the word in a comically high-pitched tone. She said nothing, though the constant flick of her eyes between his own and the knife gave away her fear.

"From the tavern! You! Why are you here? What do you want?"

The words came out slightly garbled as Chip fought to keep panic from distorting his voice further. He sneered at himself. How was he supposed to become a formidable adversary of evil if he was losing his senses from the surprise presence of a mere girl?

"I'm sorry!" she blurted out. "I mean you no harm. Please don't hurt me."

Chip shook his head in disbelief.

"What….Have you been following me all this time?"

She hesitated, and then nodded.

"Why?"

"It is hard to explain, Monsieur. I would ask you to be satisfied with the knowledge that I needed to leave that place and I saw a way out with a stranger with kind eyes."

Chip was not convinced. His gaze and hold on the knife never faltered.

"Go on."

"What you said in the tavern…about fate being your guide. It is what I want more than anything. A new uncertain life…and I feel a connection between us. Don't you feel it?"

There was no response from Chip, so she continued.

"I have been meaning to escape for a long time, and I had always meant to accompany a traveller. I could journey with them to their destination and then start anew, far away from everything I had known before. I left at sunset, thinking that I could catch up with you quickly, but you ride so fast! I did not mean to sneak up on you and I am truly sorry for startling you…but I could help you! We could help each other."

Chip looked at her, trying to comprehend what she was asking. It was very reckless for a lone woman to randomly pursue a stranger. She was either very brave or very foolish…or very desperate to get away. He wondered what had happened to her to make her take such an extreme course of action. Something awful, no doubt. That something he could see in her eyes, and it made him pity her.

"How can you help me?"

"I was raised in the forest, monsieur, and was taught from an early age to survive alone in it. I know how to make medicines and ointment from what nature provides me, such as to treat the scrapes on your knees."

Chip looked down. He was indeed bleeding from harsh grazes on both his legs.

"I also have an excellent sense of direction. I have tracked you for days simply by reading tiny signs you have left behind on your journey. I can be useful to many a traveller, particularly those such as yourself that stand before me hungry, bleeding and armed with a blunt knife."

She smiled smugly at the look of indignation that swept across Chip's face at her comment, and then at the bewilderment he felt as he gingerly ran his fingers down the blade feeling the coarse but not sharp metal touch his skin without marking it. He tried to hide his embarrassment by clearing his throat.

"And what exactly is it that you want of me?"

"Protection and companionship. Nothing more. Once you reach wherever it is you're going, I shall leave and never bother you again. I promise."

Suddenly, Chip felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. At the tavern, he'd told this woman he was bound for nowhere, careless and carefree. She obviously did not know what she was getting involved in. Sighing heavily, and discarding the knife for it was clearly of no use to him, he ran his hands through his hair before addressing her again.

"Mademoiselle…."

"Fauve," she corrected, detesting formalities only when directed at her.

That was it! Fauve!

"…I fear I have misled you. What I told you before was not entirely true. My destination is unknown only in actual location, for I am in fact on a quest. A very dangerous quest, as it happens, to rescue…something very precious from…er…something evil."

Chip knew how vague he sounded, but he chose his words with caution. She only needed to know enough to deter her from accompanying him further.

"If you travel with me, you will be putting yourself at risk, and I will be endangering you if I allow it. Although I confess I would enjoy your company…" and he meant this, for he was lonely and against his better judgment, starting to like the girl's spirit and character… "This is a burden for me to bear by myself and I should face my destiny alone."

Fauve seemed to absorb this frankly frightening information surprisingly calmly. She did not seem scared or even remotely anxious. She merely stood, eyes down with her hands clasped together, apparently lost in thought for a moment. Then, she looked up and smiled in a way that unexpectedly sent tingles down his spine.

"I do not fear evil. I know it of old. It can be overcome, but not without hardship. Let me help you….please?"

………………………………………………………………………………………

Half an hour later, Chip was dressed again in his shirt and breeches, with one leg rolled up above his knee. He winced as Fauve applied something yellowy-green she'd produced from her bag to his grazes. It felt like stinging nettles being plunged into his flesh.

"What is that?" he asked, between gritted teeth.

"It is agrimony. It will help clean the wounds."

"And it's a plant?"

"That is so."

She started to wrap the cuts with a strip of linen.

"How do you know about all these…healing plants?"

She hesitated slightly.

"My mother taught me. Her mother taught her."

"Are you a witch?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could consider the irony of him saying them. She laughed.

"Of course not. Just because you are unfamiliar with herbalism does not make it witchcraft."

Chip studied her face carefully as she concentrated on securing the linen in a complicated knot. He had agreed to let her stay with him as long as she was useful, but that did not mean he trusted her. He'd questioned her relentlessly about herself since she'd joined him which had not seemed to faze her at all. Her name was Fauve Saint-Pierre, she was twenty years of age, and she lived for a short time with her mother, Claudine, before leaving home to find work. She'd become a barmaid at the tavern where he'd met her, but she disliked it immensely.

As well as tracking, cooking and herbalism, she was adept at horseback riding and dress-making, although she assured him that the two did not go together. She was also unmarried, which was unusual for her tender age and rare beauty, but made sense as she was clearly independently-minded and could take surprisingly good care of herself.

She'd not asked one question of him during this time, though he had thought she'd have plenty. She hadn't even asked him his name. She'd simply made a fire as he'd put the rest of his clothes on, presumably to try to prove her worth, and then insisted he let her dress the scrapes he'd obtained from scrambling up the riverbank earlier, which she was still doing now, seemingly unhampered by the constantly flickering light of the fire.

On the ground lay an assortment of herbs from Fauve's bag, along with a small stone bowl and pounder, which she'd told him was called a mortar and pestle, and a pan of water collected from the river and heated over the fire. This water had been used to make the paste that was now smeared all over Chip's knee. The sting had faded to a gentle throb by now, and Fauve was packing the herbs back into the bag with her back to the fire. Her red hair was now loose and tumbled down her shoulders. From where Chip sat, it seemed as if her whole head was a-flame. He watched her intently, studying how her nimble fingers, now ungloved, worked their way through the herbs, re-wrapping them carefully. She no longer wore her cloak, for it was a warm night. She'd taken it off before she lit the fire, revealing a simple earth-green dress made up of a bodice, apron and skirt that had been purposefully split down the middle to make the wearer more comfortable whilst riding.

There was nothing unusual about it, it was an outfit worn by many a respectable young woman of the time, yet Chip could not help but notice how the colour intensified the green of Fauve's eyes, how the waistband had been sewn to accentuate her narrow waist and fuller hips, and how the neckline was perhaps a little lower than was usual, revealing more skin than was normally necessary. She could pass for a virtuous young maid, but something about her told Chip there was more to her than the eye could see. Not for the first time that evening, he wondered why he really wanted her to stay.